


"You win!"

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyday has to be an adventure, some days are great for remembering heroes of old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"You win!"

Spinning on top of the mesa, Heyes flung himself from the saddle. Laying belly down on the rim, he scanned below with his spyglass. Behind him, he could hear the horses heaving for air and Curry reloading, from the shots he’d fired earlier to dissuade the posse. 

“I don’t see anything,” Heyes said, scanning their back trail. 

“Think they gave up?”

“I do,” Heyes stood, dusting his self off. “It was just a group of merchants. Not even sure they really believed who they were chasing.” Grabbing his gelding’s reins, he began walking the horse back and forth along the flat top of the mesa. “I’ll check again in a few minutes.”

Holstering his gun, Curry too began walking his horse to cool it. Stepping up alongside his partner, he bounced the empty shell casings in the palm of his gloved hand before pocketing them, “Need to do some re-loading next time we camp.”

Heyes nodded.

“You ought to clean your gun, too.”

Heyes nodded again.

“You’re not going to, are you?”

Heyes looked over, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile. 

Kid shook his head, an exasperated sigh escaping from him. 

Handing off his reins, Heyes returned to the edge, and dropping down again, pulled out the brass telescope. At least, beneath the black paint and grime it was brass. He looked at it briefly, and shook his head, before raising it to his eye. He never could figure out why telescopes were always so shiny. Didn’t their makers realize the users were either hunting or being hunted? Either way, sun reflection was as good a giveaway as a signal fire at night. After at least ten-minutes, he slid the glass closed, “We’re in the clear,” and getting up, he found Curry had watered the horses. “How are they?”

“Ready for travel.”

“Good, let’s head for a cold beer and soft bed.”

In such precision a watcher would have thought it choreographed they swung aboard their horses; smiled at each other, and took off at a lope across the mesa. 

Weaving down the backside of the mesa, Heyes followed the long-legged sorrel Curry was riding. He watched the animal find its footing and he felt the horse might prove to be a good one for his partner. On level ground they once more fell back to riding side-by-side. 

“Named him, yet?” Heyes asked.

“Hasn’t come to me,” Curry replied, patting the animal’s shoulder. “Have decided he isn’t as good as Buck.”

Heyes rolled his eyes, “You say that about all of ‘em.”

“Never was a horse as good as Buck.”

“I think you memory is jaded.”

“Is not,” Curry smiled wistfully, drifting back to memories of sunshine-filled Kansas days, “Buck’s coat shone like wheat ready to be harvested.”

“If you’re talking about the dead stuff in the rot zone,” Heyes quipped. 

“His legs and dun stripe were as black as smithy coal.”

“That had been left out in the rain a few weeks.” The sarcasm dripped even thicker, this time, from the silver-tongued Hannibal Heyes. 

Kid shot his pal a twisted sneer, “well, he had the longest mane and tail, I ever saw on horse.”

“I’ll give him that. ‘Course it’s because he had Shetland in him.”

“Did not.”

“Did.”

“Did not, Heyes!”

“I’m not having one these arguments with you.”

Curry rode along for a spell, in an obvious huff, “Buck was sure-footed.”

“He was and could mule kick better than every jackass in Johnson County.”

“He’d hold a gait forever.”

“Especially the dog trot; got to be I’d start thinking my innards were going to bounce right out when we rode him.” 

“He was loyal; followed me like a hound dog,” Curry said with a definite, affirmative nod of his head. 

“Yup, gave away every hiding spot we had on your Pa’s place.”

“He put up with all our antics. Like learning to hang on his side, just like an Indian, while he was running.”

“We put up with his antics, too. Like putting his head down to graze; only horse I’ve known who could go from run to dead-still in one move.”

“Well, he was smart, too.”

In a tone, which could not be called anything other than snide, Heyes asked, “Is that why he’d get out and ice skate on the ponds in winter?”

Curry laughed, it was deep, warm, and rich. “Yeah, that weren’t too smart.”

“Or, the way, he’d harass my Pa’s herd dogs. Or, steal tools, bridles and whatever else he could lay his teeth on, and run off dropping ‘em in the field.” 

Curry nodded. “Didn’t say he was wise. Just smart, like how he could unknot anything he was tied with?” 

“True.” Heyes nodded this time, “Even, learned to work the bolts on his stall gate and free himself.”

“Now that was smart!” 

“Oh yeah, smart. . .’cause then he’d go knock your Ma’s apple pies off the window sill and eat the fruit off the ground.”

Curry winced, shaking his head, “Ooh, I thought Ma was going to shoot him dead for that a couple of times.”

Heyes laughed, the tension of the posse chasing them falling away making him appear years younger. “I did like the way, we’d come out of school and that horse would be standing there waiting on us.” 

“Pa said that irritated him to the point of wanting to sell Buck. ‘Cause, here he’d ground me from riding, for getting in trouble, usually for something you talked me into.”

Heyes shook his head, grinning hugely.

“Anyways he’d tell me I should walk as part of my punishment and yet, Ol’ Buck well he’d break out and be waiting to bring us home every damn time.”

Heyes nodded, a slight smile gracing his mouth as he remembered. 

“And, how about the way he loved to swim. We could ride him right out into the coolest part of the river.”

“All right, stop, stop,” Heyes said laughing, holding up his hands. “You win! He was a hell of a horse. Won’t never see another like him!”

About that time the sorrel Curry was riding was so busy lollygagging around, it stumbled on its own feet. Picking up the rein, Kid barked, “Doofus, pay attention.”

“Sounds like you just named another one.”  
The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of Curry’s mouth and he laid a rein to the sorrel, “Heyah Doofus, let’s go.”

With Heyes following suit, the pair of them rode off into the majestically painted sunset with every step bringing them closer to the cold beer and soft bed they sought.


End file.
